Flux

the captain frowned again. “What?”
    Miner sighed. “Treason. I…I tried to kill the Chief.”
    That produced an animated reaction from the pirates, although Miner wasn’t certain whether they were angry or impressed. In any case, they dragged him across the deck until he was sitting near one of the masts. One of the pirates trotted away and came back a few moments later with chains in his hands. The fabric that bound Miner’s wrists was cut—he saw with a sharp pang that he’d been tied with one of Ennek’s blue socks—and instead his wrists were brought forward and clapped into irons that allowed him to separate his hands by only a few inches. His ankles were hobbled as well, although the chain there was long enough that he could have managed a halting walk. Red Shirt ran a longer chain from Miner’s wrists and around the mast itself so that he would have a few feet of movement. Not enough to reach the railing, yet enough to see the waves below.
    Another of the pirates—this one hardly more than a boy and with his beard barely sprouted—dropped a metal bucket next to Miner and, with a series of gestures, made clear that it was for Miner to relieve himself. The youth also plopped a blanket into Miner’s lap. It was moth-eaten and ragged, and crusted with the gods knew what, but at least it was thick and warm.
    With several more minutes of unintelligible discussion and a few prods of their boots, the pirates went away. A few men remained above deck (the night watch, he supposed) but they left him alone. He collapsed onto his side and huddled under the reeking blanket and closed his eyes, hoping he'd never wake up.

    ***

    But he did wake up, of course.
    Several times over the course of the night, in fact, as he shivered on the damp planks and tried to cushion his sore head on his uninjured arm. He would eventually fall back asleep, but then he’d dream of Stasis and there was no Ennek to soothe him out of those nightmares. Or he’d dream of Ennek instead, floating beneath the waves, his eyes an opaque white, his mouth open in a final silent scream, his curls floating like tendrils of seaweed.
    He gave up on sleep altogether when the sun rose. Several of the pirates wandered over to stare curiously at him, but when one of them reached over to touch him, another man with an air of authority yelled at him, and he backed away, grumbling. Miner was forced to use the bucket with a laughing audience, and he drank the cup of tepid water that the boy from the previous night brought him, but he refused to eat the cold, lumpy porridge. The boy yelled at him about it for a few moments, then shrugged and took the bowl away.
    Mostly, Miner hunched against the mast, staring blankly at nothing. If he moved even a little, his chains clanked loudly.
    The pirates seemed sluggish that morning as well. Too much drink the night before. Or maybe they were always like that, spending long periods of time at the railings with mugs of hot tea in their hands or lazily sitting around carving shapes out of chunks of wood or, in the case of two of the men, knitting complicated sweaters from wool dyed bright orange.
    Later the boy appeared again, this time with a crust of bread and more water. Again Miner drank—his tongue felt rough and furry—but he wouldn’t reach out for the food, and when the boy dropped it in his lap, Miner kicked it away. It rolled across the deck and then under the railing. “Fish food now,” Miner said to the uncomprehending boy. “Like my Ennek, you son of a bitch!”
    He leapt to his feet and lunged for the youth, but of course the boy simply hopped backward, just out of reach. Miner jerked at his chains, and although he knew on some level that it was useless, he couldn’t help himself: his rage and grief made him roar and struggle until his wrists were bloody and his body exhausted. He’d accumulated quite a crowd by then—not that it mattered—and he collapsed very suddenly and hid as much of himself as he could under the blanket.
    He might not be able to stop the pirates from hearing him sob, but at least they wouldn’t see his face.

    ***

    It must have been mid-afternoon when he noticed that the ship was beginning to pitch more noticeably. He pulled his head out from under the blanket and looked cautiously around. He hadn’t really noticed the sky earlier, but now it was hard to miss: charcoal clouds piled ominously above, the sun blotted out so completely it was almost dark as